Mutual Fears
by V. Emily
Summary: In the midst of the 36th Hunger Games, District Ten tribute Elaine finds an unlikely friend. Both she and Vieno of District Seven are too afraid to take a life. Together they hide from their competitors, forging a brother-sister relationship. But when the time comes, will Elaine or Vieno fall first at the bloodthirsty hands of the tributes? Rated T for violence in the Games.


**A/N:** **Hi, let me introduce myself. You can call me V. I mostly write fan-fiction over in the NCIS: Los Angeles category, but I decided to pay you good folks a visit. :) I've never written a HG fic before, so it's going to be a bit of an experience for me. The first chapter is always the hardest for me, but I plan to make this story much more interesting once the tributes arrive at the Capitol and then proceed to the Arena. But I had to do some setting up first and let you meet Elaine, the main character. I hope you enjoy the story! Reviews are always nice if you have a spare moment, but I'm sure you've heard that from every writer. :)**

**Disclaimer: While becoming a bestselling author is on the top of my list of goals, I'm not there yet. In other words, I do not and never will own **_**The Hunger Games**_**.**

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Every single year, it's the same thing. Ugly hand-me-down dress, hair tied up, herded into a group with the other girls. The hideous, too-cheerful lady dips her hands into the bowl (her makeup job probably cost more than it takes to feed my family for two weeks). She calls a name. A youthful figure, oftentimes sobbing, makes their way to the stage. She calls another name. One more figure. The figures are led away and I don't see them again until they're on the television screen. And then they're gone for good soon after that - a glimpse of their stony corpses, and that's the last I will ever see of the boy and girl from District Ten, my home. See, that Capitol lady (her name is Janetta Willcopper - Capitol names are the strangest!) has never called my name. In the four years that I've been entered into the Reaping, she's never picked up one of those slips and read the name Elaine Randrup.

And yet, every year, right before the Reaping, my father tells us, "Always be on your toes." Then he claps my older brother Cameron on the shoulder and kisses my forehead. And after that, we're lost in the throngs of decidedly unhappy District Ten children. Cameron is a big worrier - he's always coming up with dark theories and speculations. One time, as we stood in line to have our blood samples taken, he murmured to me, "You know, Laney, the next time we'll see our father might be when he comes to say goodbye. You do know that, right?" When Cameron gets all paranoid like that, I just shake my head and avert my eyes. Truth is, I love my brother. But there are hundreds of those slips. Someone is chosen, and it's never Cameron, and it's never me. Janetta Willcopper always wishes us that the odds will be in our favor. They always are.

This year, I'm fifteen and Cameron is seventeen. His black hair has gotten thicker as he has grown older, and I often realize when I look at him that he bears an uncanny resemblance to our father. He's even beginning to sound like him, too, not just in tone but in subjects. It's always a "you-might-die-in-the-next-five-minutes" conversation when you're talking with them. It becomes rather tiring, honestly. But then again, Cameron was never a very optimistic young man, and I don't suppose our father ever was, either.

I barely feel the zap as a sample of my blood is taken. I'm emphatically urged by a Peacekeeper to join the quickly-growing crowd of well-dressed girls. Of course, to say "well-dressed" in District Ten isn't to say much. Our clothes are modest but threadbare, our hair is brushed but dirty, and we carry the scent of our livestock everywhere we go. In the throngs of girls, I try to spot my friend Deitra. It shouldn't be a hard feat, considering my height (my entire family is made up of tall, lanky, dark-eyed persons) but there are too many people with Deitra's same blond hair to tell which girl is her. I sigh. At least with Deitra, I'd have someone to chat with while we waited for this whole stupid ceremony to begin.

About thirty minutes of dull waiting later, Janetta Willcopper steps up to the microphone. The former Victor of the Games that will mentor this year's tributes - she's simply called "Agatha" with no last name that I can recall - stands at the back of the creaky stage.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen," begins Janetta. "Today is the Reaping of the 36th annual Hunger Games!" She seriously expects us to clap, doesn't she? But Janetta is not disappointed; the crowds burst into applause fueled by fake enthusiasm. The consequences would be worse if we didn't. "We will now begin drawing the names of the lucky children chosen to compete. Ladies first - and may the odds be ever in your favor!"

"_Let's hope that works this year," _I think with a roll of my eyes. I stifle a yawn as she reaches her manicured nails into that glass bowl and begins to toy with the paper slips. She grabs the top slip on the far right side of the pile, then drops it and defects to the left side. This slip she keeps and retrieves. With sickening relish, she rips the tape that holds the paper closed and reads the girl's name.

I think all of us try not to laugh when she can't even pronounce the person's name. I guess Janetta is so used to the near-scary names from the Capitol that she's forgotten what normal ones sound like. She struggles with it. If she's blushing, her thick coats of makeup hide it well.

"Eel...Ell...Ale..." she stammers, then clears her throat and starts over. Apparently thinking she's gotten it correct, she confidently declares, "Ellaiyahnae Randrup."

It's the surname that makes my breathing hitch. Did she just say Randrup? Well, my name's not pronounced "Ellaiyahnae", so I don't think it can be _me, _can it? I mean, surely...

A few pairs of eyes dart to me, but I don't know what to do, so I don't budge. Nobody else makes a move towards the stage, either, and dread sinks in further and further. A Peacemaker steps subtly up to where Janetta stands and whispers something to her. There's no powder to keep us from seeing where the tips of the Capitol woman's ears turn red with embarrassment.

"Ahem, yes, my apologies," she says into the microphone. "Again, that's Elaine Randrup. Are you out there, sweetie?"

If my skin wasn't naturally as pale as lamb wool, I know I would've blanched at the call of my name.

A girl next to me nudges my ribcage, and that brings me back to Earth. I numbly put one foot in front of the other, slowly making my way out of the crowd of girls. Janetta brightens when she sees that she won't, after all, need to send Peacekeepers to force me up to the stage. I come to stand on her right side, and though I'm at least ten meters away, I can smell her strong perfume. I can't even decide what they modeled that scent after. It isn't at all natural and it makes my stomach churn. It's so odd how I latch onto the subject of Janetta's perfume when I've basically been condemned to die.

I catch several faces in the crowd. Deitra is shaking her head at the ground and repeatedly mouthing the word "no". Another girl is clutching her arm in hopeless comfort. The morning sunlight catches in Deitra's teardrops as they drip to the dirt. Cameron stands as one of the tallest boys in the throngs of males. He doesn't look surprised, only saddened. He rubs at the back of his neck in that anxious way of his. My father and mother, standing with all the other parents and little children, are hugging each other. My mother is sobbing; I can hear her from up here. My father is rubbing circles on her back, but I think he needs some reassurance himself. And though the other adults are murmuring "sorry" and "how terrible", they know they aren't qualified to help my parents through this.

I notice all of these faces in an instant. The world barely pauses after I am called up. Janetta doesn't miss a beat and moves right along, sticking her stupidly perfect hand into the bowl of boys' names. She reads one that is entirely unfamiliar to me.

"Norman Kelsey," she announces eagerly. The owner of that name is a new face to me, but there are many people in District Ten that I have never met. Our farms can be quite distanced, and even if they weren't, we seldom have reason to visit one another. Norman takes his place on Janetta's left side and doesn't give me a single look. With that, Janetta bids the district a "heartfelt" farewell (in reality, it's as fake as her nose) and the Peacekeepers bring us away.

So here I am, and for once in his life my cynical brother was right. And, if I do say so...what a rotten time to pick to be correct!

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**A/N: So! What do you think so far? To continue or not to continue, that is the question. Do you have an answer? Thanks for taking the time to read/skim/look for Cliff's notes. XD **

**-V. **


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